A Change of Habit
by Grooviest Mutation
Summary: Sometime around Xmen:FC. Erik Lensherr's habits, their convenience and how these habits may change after the influence of one Charles Xavier. T for snog.


Sadly, I do not own Xmen. Enjoy and please take a moment to review (this is only my second fic).**  
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**A Change of Habit**

Erik Lensherr proudly considered himself to be a practical man. Dark colours hid dirt, dust and gunpowder, so he wore a lot of black because he had an unfortunate habit of playing with bullets and spilling the contents on himself. A scarf got in the way in a fight, so he wore turtlenecks and leather jackets if he felt cold.

Erik needed to be quiet and practical and calculative, because he was a predator hunting another predator, not easy, weak prey. Herr Doctor, a monster who now went by Shaw, was his target and he would not rest until he destroyed the man. So imagine his surprise when he just _let_ himself be stopped when only a few feet away from the submarine containing Shaw by a total stranger. The shock of the encounter must have done it, he thought, because he was in a peculiar situation he didn't think he could encounter another person in.

He was underwater, you see, tethered to Shaw's submarine by his magnetic powers. Erik Lensherr was a mutant, controlling metal with ease akin to breathing. Suddenly, despite the coldness of the water and the depth at which he was moving, he was not alone.

Charles Xavier knew exactly what to say to make Erik unclench his mind, let the submarine propel away and make Erik return to the surface. Charles told Erik he wasn't alone, not the only mutant in the world and not the only one hunting monsters. He said all this with relative calm, even in freezing cold water, as if saving crazed drowning mutants was something he did every day. As he spoke, out loud and in his mind (in his _mind_), he gazed at Erik with level eyes of a particular shade of sharp, piercing blue.

Erik Lensherr looked into those sapphire eyes that shone at him in the darkness and let himself feel hope for the first time in a long time; he thought it may have been his first real emotion in years. Though Erik would never tell, he enjoyed the optimistic feeling. It felt like balm on his wounded, scarred mind. Charles was strange and small and quiet but magnificent and powerful and real. He knew what to say to soothe Erik at times when even Erik himself did not realise he was troubled.

So Erik, a man of instinct, brute force and strategy, closed his eyes and let Charles sweep him away in his current of chess, scotch and wisdom.

Though he always planned meticulously, found escape routes and assessed situations with a level head, Erik found himself inextricably woven into something he did not predict and account for. Ensconced at Charles' mansion (he had a whole _mansion_) and soon felt joy, contentment and had his first sleep in months which was not interrupted by nightmares. Charles Xavier was a warm, giving person and created a haven for near strangers in his own home in the blink of an eye.

He let his guard down around the man, relaxed as much as he ever could. There was no escape route, then, when Erik realised he loved Charles. He loved Charles so much that it didn't matter to him that they were both men, that he was being weak by depending on Charles so much. And just as suddenly as he was joyous at his realisation, he was very, very afraid. What if Charles did not care for Erik as much as Erik did for him? He was very glad Charles had an overactive conscience and promised not to read Erik's mind without permission, because if he saw any of this in Erik's head and laughed, Erik would take the nearest metal object and drive it though his heart rather than live knowing Charles Xavier did not love him back.

Erik realised too late he had made his own trap and walked right into it, as Charles looked at him over his glass of scotch in the middle of their chess game and calmly asked, "is something bothering you, my friend?"

Erik's mind whirred, knowing that Charles would know if he lied, even if he didn't read his mind, because Charles was perceptive and knew when Erik was avoiding answering and knew Erik more than he knew himself.

Erik Lensherr, a man of precision and wit, panicked as Charles continued to gaze at him with hypnotic eyes. Drawing on the courage and pride he hoped to still possess after gallivanting around with the younger mutant bunch, he decided to just plunge in, the same way he had when he realised Shaw was getting away on a submarine. Erik jerked his mind from such negative thoughts. He was safe (_with Charles_) now; the CIA had caught Shaw against all odds.

"I...I think I love you, old friend." Erik stammered out ungraciously with no preamble.

"Oh, Erik," sighed Charles and all at once he was out of his armchair and straddling Erik (how did the man move so fast, he wondered) and then he ceased his dithering – ceased all coherent thought, in fact – because Charles' lips were on his.

_I love you too you fool_, the tender telepath projected, his mouth busy trailing kisses along Erik's jaw and Erik didn't mind one bit because he trusted Charles and didn't care if Charles got into his mind because he now knew Erik's biggest secret and it was a happy secret and now it could belong to both of them. Before Erik realised what was happening, Charles yanked his turtleneck off and planted a biting, sucking kiss on his neck that was surely going to bruise and all Erik could think was "well, at least I've already formed a turtleneck habit – the kids won't have a change to notice and snigger at knowingly". He must have unwittingly projected that because Charles chuckled into his neck and replied with his amusement and affection in an intoxicating mix.

And so Erik Lensherr, a man of command and control, broke many of his habits and let his most trusted friend, his love, take charge and snog him senseless.


End file.
